


Patience and Adaptation

by me_midget (gin_tonic)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mini Fest 2015, Minor Character Death, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-08-22 01:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8267585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_tonic/pseuds/me_midget
Summary: Harry lost his husband several months ago and finds himself alone and pregnant during Christmas time. As he struggles to come to terms with the situation, he meets Snape again and suddenly has to face a whole new set of feelings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A billion thanks go to llaeyro, who did an absolutely wonderful job on beta-reading this fic of mine!

It was a weird feeling, walking along the street all alone at Christmas time. Not because he was alone, as such, but rather because he would never go Christmas shopping with Oliver again. 

Harry stopped at a shop's window and stared, not really looking at the goods displayed. He looked his reflection, at the bump bulging under his thick winter coat, and brushed show out of the strands of hair poking out from under his woollen hat. Even five months after Oliver's death, Harry found it hard to understand that he was now a widower. A pregnant widower. 

Oliver shouldn't have died. He hadn't been the one with the dangerous profession—not like Harry, who had to go and demand desk duty as soon as he found out he was pregnant. And yet he had died. Hit by a Bludger just at the wrong angle, killed instantaneously, just after he'd managed to make a rather spectacular save for Puddlemere. It hadn't even taken a second to make Harry a widower. 

Harry turned away from the window and continued along his way. He had loads to do. This Christmas he was going to be invited to the Weasleys' Christmas party. And since everyone wanted to make sure he was properly surrounded by friends and family—and properly distracted from the fact that his child would grow up without his second father—many people would attend the party. He needed presents for every single one of them to show them how much he appreciated the effort, even though he would rather curl up in bed at home and sob into his pillows.

******

Harry stared at the menu over the counter. When had ordering tea had become so bloody complicated? He felt dizzy, almost blinded by the need to sit down somewhere and drink something hot.

"Well, well, looks like your Quidditch physique didn't hold up long," an all too familiar voice said close to him. Harry blinked and turned to frown at Draco Malfoy. Just what he needed today. Ferret Face. Putting a protective hand on his bulging belly, Harry opened his mouth for an equally snarky reply. But before he even got a word out. Draco waved him off. "Just kidding. Come on, you'll sit with us." Without waiting for Harry's reply, Draco took his arm and led him towards a table around the corner.

"But I haven't even ordered!"

"And you didn’t pick out your favourite kind of tea, either. I know. But you look like you're about to faint."

Vaguely, Harry remembered that Draco had studied to become a healer, but he hadn't seen the man in ages. Without Harry's knowledge, it appeared Draco Malfoy had actually become a grown up. And a medical expert. Draco pushed Harry into a chair, "I'll get something to drink for you."

"No chamomile!" Harry managed to say before Draco was off again. Only then Harry noticed who else was sitting at the table with him. Another ghost from the past: Snape. He pushed a plate with an untouched cookie towards Harry.

"Eat."

"I…"

"Draco would nag me to death if I didn’t offer it to you."

"I… Right. Okay. Thank you." Harry broke off a piece and started nibbling on it. It really was quite good. When Draco returned, he put a cup of tea in front of Harry. From the smell it was something with mint in it. Harry didn't ask, though.

For a moment they were silent, caught in the awkward moment of voluntarily sitting at the same table for the first time in their lives. Draco finally cleared his throat, "How's the pregnancy coming along then?"

Harry pushed the cup around on its saucer and was glad for the rather safe topic. "Alright, I guess. Everything's as expected—by my doctor at least. I can't say I really counted on everything that's happening now."

"Such as?"

Before he gave Draco an answer, Harry cast a look at Snape, who hadn't so much as moved a muscle since he'd offered his cookie to Harry. It felt weird, discussing this with him there. With Draco, he could pretend it was just another doctor he was talking to. Well. He certainly wasn't going to talk about waking up at night feeling horny. Nor about how reaching out for Oliver and finding the left side of the bed cold and empty reminded him how fucking alone he was in this.

"Didn't count on being so gassy all the time," he said instead and blushed as he realised that his mouth had, once again, been quicker than his brain. He hurried to add: "Didn't count of feeling like Grawp, either."

Snape snorted.

"What's a Grawp?" Draco asked, tactfully not mentioning the farting-thing.

"Hagrid's half-brother. He's a giant."

"Ah."

Harry coughed, still embarrassed, and took a sip of his tea. Just what he needed.

"You're on leave already, aren't you?" Snape then asked. Harry was surprised to hear him speak, really. He hadn't counted on Snape being interested in his life at all. Draco, on the other hand, had always been a nosy bastard.

"Yes," Harry said and put a hand on his round belly. "I hardly can go around arresting anyone like this. Let alone chase them down an alley or so." He'd been mostly on desk duty for the last couple of months, anyway. For one, field work was considered too big of a risk for pregnant people.

"It would look funny though," Draco commented and sneered slightly. "Saint Potter, the human ball, chasing after petty criminals."

Harry smiled wryly, "You've been better at being snarky, once."

"Yeah. Well, you wait until you've got a baby at home that keeps you awake at night," Draco said defensively.

******

Decorating his home festively felt weird. Harry hadn't wanted to touch the boxes filled with fairy lights that Oliver loved so much, because he found Muggle decorations exotic, but Ginny had insisted. After all, Harry had always enjoyed putting up decorations around Christmas time. And now there he was, sitting on the sofa, fairy lights a tangled mess all around him.

"Here, have some gingerbread," Ginny said and practically shoved it into his mouth. She'd taken up baking lately and head insisted on feeding him every single one of her creations. At least she was finally getting better at it, Harry thought. The gingerbread wasn't only chewable—it actually also tasted quite good.

"It's good," he managed to get out and Ginny beamed at him. Her baking adventures at least made shopping for her Christmas present easy. Harry had ordered supplies and books—two of which were even of Muggle origin, because when he and Ginny had strolled through Muggle London months and months ago, he had seen her drooling over the pretty pictures.

"Have you found out yet what I can buy for your mother?"

"Mum wants what she always wants," Ginny said as she left the room to look for additional boxes of Christmas decorations. Her voice was muffled when she continued: "She says she wishes for us to help her during Christmas. But you know her—she'd never really tell you what she wants as a present."

"But you've got an idea, haven't you?"

Ginny came back into the room and set a box down next to Harry and tapped her nose. "I did some investigating. I saw her eyeing a fancy robe with a matching hat last time she dragged me to Diagon Alley."

"A robe and a hat?" Harry looked at her doubtfully. That didn't sound like a nice Christmas present to him.

"A splurge. Something she'd never buy for herself—even now that Mum and Dad don't have to pay for all of us anymore."

Harry nodded slowly, "Okay, sounds good." Ginny beamed at him and then dumped another load of fairy lights on his lap. Not that Harry saw much of his lap nowadays. For a while, they worked silently, listening to Christmas music softly playing in the background. "I met Draco and Snape the other day," Harry said after a while. 

Ginny looked up at him. "What, the old bat? Where did you see him? I heard he rarely appears in public these days."

"In a café. I went in for a break and all tables were taken. Draco made me sit with them."

That got Ginny to stop working. "What you actually had tea with them?" 

Harry nodded. 

"Wow! I would have _paid money_ to actually see that! And none of you tried to kill each other?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "We're grown up now, you know? Snape even gave me his cookie."

Ginny put her hand over her heart and pretended to faint. "I can't believe it. And all this time you sat here and said nothing? Come on, spill! What did you talk about? What did the bat look like?"

Harry shrugged. He hadn't really paid that much attention. The situation had just been too surreal. "Like he always had, I suppose."

"Still with the stringy hair?"

"No. Actually, his hair looked kind of nice." Now that he thought about it, bits and pieces came back to him. Snape had looked… healthier. 

"Nice?" Ginny crossed her arms in front of his chest. 

"As in not stringy, you know?" Harry said defensively, and blushed.

"Can't imagine Snape without that stringy hair sticking to his skull. Ugh." She shuddered theatrically. "And he wasn't mean to you?"

Harry shook his head. He'd been surprised about that, too. He would have been able to cope with a mean Snape, but a Snape that was friendly had completely thrown him.

"Okay, now I'm torn between being worried and suspicious."

Harry rolled his eyes at her. "Really. What kind of agenda could the man have? There's nothing to do with me that could be useful to any nefarious plan."

Ginny sighed heavily and put the balled-up string of fairy lights aside. "You used to be more fun, Harry. Now I can't even get a proper conspiracy theory out of you."

"I'm too pregnant for conspiracies," Harry laughed.

"How about another theory then? What if it was a doppelganger? Or what if he had a potion accident and spilled some Mellow Melody on top his own head."

"Like Snape would ever be that careless."

Ginny shrugged. "You never know. Maybe he changed over the years. Maybe you should go to his shop and find out."

******

The next day held almost no surprises. Now that he was on paternity leave, his days consisted of long quiet breakfasts, attempting to do some cleaning and nesting and then going out because he couldn't stand being in that quiet flat anymore—where no-one argued with him about his socks lying around or how he kept hogging the blankets.

Where he went didn't matter much to him—sometimes he put on a Glamour and strolled through a park or a museum in Muggle London. Today, he was drawn to Diagon Alley. The decorations during Christmas time surpassed everything the wizarding community offered throughout the year. Lights were everywhere. Candles were shining in the windows and a smell that reminded Harry of magical Christmases at Hogwarts wafted through the air. As he slowly strolled down the streets, snow crunched under his feet. Harry thought it was strange how at peace this place made him feel. Maybe because he hadn't seen it much during those dark times. Maybe because it had been restored so quickly or maybe because so many happy memories had been made there. 

When Harry reached the lower end of Diagon Alley, where he rarely went. He thought about what Ginny had said the day before. Snape's shop was somewhere around here. He was sure he must've walked past it before, but he didn't remember where it was exactly. He hadn't needed any potion supplies in years now. And if he needed a potion, he would usually buy it ready made at The  
Apothecary or trust in Hermione's potion skills.

Harry finally spotted the shop squeezed in between two larger buildings. He had almost missed it, because it seemed unobtrusive and very much like Snape. He hesitated for a couple of seconds, debating whether or not he'd be intruding. But then his curiosity got the better of him and he went inside. Compared to this shop, Slug and Jiggers appeared bright, yet it wasn't dingy or creepy at all, even though it looked like Snape might have attempted to have it appear that way.

A customer was at the counter, keeping Snape's attention and so Harry busied himself with walking around. Strangely enough, looking at the ingredients stocked on the dark shelves made his stomach rumble with hunger. Only a few months ago they would have made him run to the loo in a frenzy.

As he was looking at a pickled frog, a shadow appeared next to him and Harry jumped. "Careful Mr Potter. Don't jostle my ingredients. If you break something, you'll have to buy it."

Harry shot him a look. "I'm not going to break your stuff."

"That's good to hear." Snape lead him towards the counter. "What brings you here?" In a way, it was comforting to know that Snape hadn't changed too much in all the years—he still wasn't keen on chitchat. On the other hand, Harry didn't really have a good reason why he was at the shop and was stumped for an answer. He shrugged.

Snape raised one of his eyebrows in a fashion that could almost be called acrobatic. "Don't tell me this is actually a social visit?" The way he said it, 'social visits' weren't things Snape did. Ever.

Harry shrugged again. "Maybe." Harry ran his finger over the counter. "I just noticed that I've never seen your shop before. At least not that I could remember."

"No, you've never been here before."

Harry wondered how it could be that Snape knew that with such certainty when he himself wasn't even sure. But before he could ask, the baby kicked and Harry felt a wave of dizziness roll over him. For a second there, the world went dark on him and when he opened his eyes again, Snape was supporting him with a tight hold on his elbow.

"Sorry about that," Harry said, "It happens sometimes."

Snape nodded curtly, but seemed reluctant to let go. It was kind of a nice feeling, Harry found and immediately chastised himself. He shouldn't let his hormones get the better of him. Snape got his wand out and summoned a chair.

Grateful, Harry sat down and attempted a smile. "You wouldn't have another cookie, would you?" He couldn't decipher the look Snape gave him, but Snape walked into the backroom, which Harry took as a positive sign. Snape returned with two cups and a plate of cookies that he levitated easily on the counter. 

"You appear to be even more high maintenance than you were while in school."

Harry shrugged and took a cookie. "Well, what can I say? Being pregnant isn't exactly easy."

Snape looked at Harry's tummy. "It would appear so."

"When I found out I was pregnant, I read a lot of books on the subject. I could have asked Molly for general advice, of course, but Oliver and I kept this quiet at the beginning, to make sure this would work out. Plus, Molly isn't exactly an expert in male pregnancies," Harry said and took a sip of his tea. "The books prepared me for some of this—in theory, at least—but I find the experience completely different from what I had expected."

"How so?"

"Well, apart from suddenly being a single dad, I thought I would have strange cravings. Liver dipped in pumpkin juice. Or shepherd's pie with chocolate sauce. That kind of thing. But there's nothing of that. I need sugary stuff more now—you just saw what happens when I forget to eat enough. Then there's the back pain. I don't know why the books didn't mention that—it seems so obvious! I mean, there's suddenly this weight on the front and I have to walk weirdly and bend backwards a little to make sure I don't fall over. There's bound to be back pain!"

Snape eyed him critically. "But there are no other ailments? No extreme fatigue, no constant nausea, no boils?"

"Boils?"

Snape shrugged. "It has been know that one in five male pregnancies causes the wizard to break out in boils."

Harry stared at him incredulously. Snape couldn't be serious now, could he? But he wasn't known to make jokes, so… "I don't have boils."

"I'm glad to hear that. If, however, you discover any symptoms, make sure to come to me. I offer a broad variety of potions for these. All perfectly safe for the offspring you're carrying."

"I…. thanks." Harry patted his stomach. Harry checked the watch on his wrist and sighed. "I better get going. Maybe I can find one or two presents before the shops close for the day. Thanks for the cookie." 

Snape inclined his head and turned to a couple of potion flasks on his counter, before Harry had even left the store.

******

Harry traced moisture that had set on the window with his finger. It was snowing and despite the overcast sky the night wasn't as dark as expected. Lately, the days had almost rushed towards Christmas; the sun had barely risen, it seemed to Harry, when it was setting again. He wasn't ready yet, not ready for Christmas or the New Year or this baby to be born.

Harry tried to remember what he'd done one year ago. Twelve months. That had been all the time the fates had needed to once again turn his life upside down. It felt like an eternity since life had been normal, when happiness had been the first thing Harry felt coursing through his veins when he woke up. One year ago, Oliver had been alive. They would have spent the evenings strolling around Christmas markets, through Hogsmeade, perhaps, or they would have curled up on the couch. Now, though–

"Harry, are you alright?"

Harry jumped slightly as Ginny touched his shoulder. He turned and attempted a smile. "Yes, of course."

But Ginny didn't buy it. She frowned at him and gently manoeuvred him back to his chair at the dining table. Ron and Hermione had gone back to the kitchen; Harry could hear spoons clanking against the metal pots. They were talking quietly and their familiar happy murmur was comforting like an old, well-used blanket.

"Drink something. And talk."

Harry sighed, but took a sip of his water anyway. He knew better than to be stubborn with Ginny. She was far more persistent than him. "What do you want me to talk about?"

Ginny swirled around the wine in her glass and regarded him quietly for a couple of seconds. "I take it you don't want to talk about what you were thinking about just there." Harry shook his head. "Then talk about something else. Anything, just as long as you don't go all quiet on me again. It worries me, you know," she added, almost too quiet for Harry to hear. From a purely intellectual point of view he could understand her, of course. But that didn't mean that he could change anything. He couldn't tell her that there were days when he was almost too tired to get out of bed. Or that occasionally he would blame himself for being alive when Oliver wasn't. Because if he said those things aloud, they would only become more real. And maybe the baby… The baby was his reason to keep going. Because he didn't have any other choice.

"I don't know what to talk to you about. It's not like I have adventures every day anymore."

Ginny snorted. "You make our youth seem more exciting than it really was. You've forgotten the endless days of homework and studying for all these tests."

Harry smiled wryly. "Sometimes, all the fighting for my life seemed like a welcome change of pace."

"Right. That was tons of fun." Ginny took a long sip. "Speaking of fun: Have you seen Snape lately?"

Harry blinked. "As a matter of fact, I have. How did you know?"

"I know you, Harry Potter," Ginny said, tapping her index finger against the tip of her nose. "Snape has always sparked your curiosity—you just couldn't stay away."

"It sometimes scares me how well you know me."

Ginny just shrugged. "At least you know you'll always get good Christmas presents from me. I always know exactly what you need." She craned her head to catch a glimpse of what her brother and Hermione were doing in the kitchen. When she was satisfied by what she saw, she leant back into her chair and looked at Harry. "So? What was it like?"

"What? Snape? The shop?"

"Both, of course."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Unsurprisingly Snape-ish, I'd say. He works alone, or so it seems. Does the brewing by himself. The shop is just what you would imagine him working in. Rows and rows of potion ingredients crammed into a small room. Not much light."

"Is it properly creepy?"

"Not so much. Or at least not as long as you don't stand next to the pickled giant slugs that seem to move when they're hit by the light just right."

Ginny shuddered. "No, thanks. I'm just glad that I always knew Potions wasn't my cup of tea."

"Just as well," Harry said and refrained from comparing her potion skills to her cooking skills. Though, admittedly, she was getting better. He cleared his throat. "I almost fainted in there."

"You what?"

"I forgot to eat and my blood sugar got low. Snape helped me out."

"Did he give you another cookie?"

Harry blinked. "Actually, he did."

"No, he didn't!" When Harry didn't agree with her, she added, "You can't tell me that's normal Snape-behaviour!"

"Ginny, it's been years since I talked to the man. And we were students back then _and_ he was a spy. No way have we actually known what the real Snape was like. And now I don't know what his new normal is like."

"Then find out."

"Come again?" 

In the kitchen, Ron and Hermione were bickering on how long their roast should be in the oven. Ginny ran her finger along the stem of her glass of wine. "Sure. Go and visit him."

"At home?" The idea sounded frivolous somehow. Outlandish. He couldn't imagine what Snape was like at home. Was Snape the type to wear one of these old-fashioned house-coats? Or did Snape don the formal robe and waistcoat that Harry had seen him wear when out in public? He wondered if Snape's house was full of books and if his brewing abilities meant that he was a good cook who liked his kitchen big and fully stocked. He wondered what it would be like see him in a private environment, to be intimate like that.

"Earth to Harry." Ginny waved her hand in front of his face. "Everything okay?"

"What? Yes. Sure." Harry shook his head as if to get rid of those thoughts about Snape. Thoughts he shouldn't be having. "Do you really think I should go see him?"

"Yes! You're clearly curious. And I know you; if you don't satisfy that curiosity, you'll go crazy."

Harry snorted. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." With that he dropped the topic. Ron and Hermione, carrying the much-discussed roast and rosemary potatoes, came back into the room. Harry wasn't ready yet to share what he knew about Snape.

******

On Wednesdays, Harry went to visit Oliver. Graves in the wizarding world were the same as they were in the Muggle world, Harry found. After a couple of months they all looked like they had been there for years. Oliver's grave was tastefully decorated with heather and some green plants that the lady in the flower shop had said would keep well in winter. Every week, Harry would weed the bed as well as he could with his baby kicking him and making it more difficult to move.

"It's really strange, you know," Harry told Oliver as he picked up fallen leaves. "Seeing Snape after all this time. All that anger and confusion I felt about him is gone and what is left is curiosity. He gave me cookies and brought me tea, you know." Harry smiled wryly. "Who would have thought?"

He imagined Oliver would laugh at that and call him silly. Oliver hadn't liked Snape while at school, of course, but then again none of them had. And Oliver's dislike for the man had been solely based his position during Quidditch games and him being the head of Slytherin house, which was—at least to Oliver—like being the team's coach. He had never understood the dynamics between Harry and Snape during school, nor had he cared too much about that. Oliver would tell him to go ahead and visit Snape, because he—just like Ginny—knew that now that Harry's curiosity was peaked he wouldn't be able to rest until he'd found out everything he could about Snape. But would he still want Harry to go if he knew that Harry spent so much time thinking about the man?

"I miss you," Harry said and looked at the headstone where Oliver's name stared back at him.

******

Snape's doorbell sounded funny. As if Snape had put in a big load of effort to make it particularly spooky, just like he had with his shop. It didn't fit in well with the Christmassy front gardens and the pretty fairy light installations of the windows on the rest of the street.

After a full minute, Snape finally opened the door. And stared. And blurted, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm coming for tea," Harry said and pushed a basket of cookies into Snape's hands. He didn't want the man to think he'd come just to rob him of his sweets again. "Can I come in?" He didn't wait for Snape to stop gawking at him as if he'd arrived in Santa's own sleigh, and pushed past him into the house. His feet were killing him—he needed to sit down.

The first room on the right, which looked like it used to be the formal sitting area before Snape had turned it into a library, featured two armchairs. Harry sank onto one.

"You didn't say you wanted to visit me. I didn't expect you," Snape said and the accusation was clear in his voice.

"No, you probably didn't." Harry did his best to sound cheerful. "I already gathered you don't really do social visits." And here Harry was, doing a social visit for the second time. 

Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Draco comes to visit sometimes."

Harry nodded, hoping Snape might go on and talk a bit, but apparently that had been all the man had to say. "Well, since you basically saved me with your cookies twice now, I thought it'd be only fair if I brought some over for you."

Finally, Snape took the chair opposite him. But when he said nothing, Harry suddenly found himself at an impasse—he had no clue what to talk about now that he was here. In years, there hadn't been a situation when he had to make small-talk like this with another man. He'd had Oliver. And outside of that there had been his job—talking to the people he arrested had been rather limited to getting their confessions—and his friends. But Snape… he found he barely knew anything about the man, besides stuff related to the war, to have a hook for the conversation.

Harry looked around. "So… you like to read?"

Snape then did something Harry would never have expected. He laughed!

******

That night Harry lay in bed and sleep wouldn't come. He replayed the visit at Snape's time and time again in his head. It had been nice, spending time with man. He hadn't expected Snape could be that nice or amusing, but he had had a very nice time with him. Nice enough to give him a warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach that had nothing at all to do with the baby resting under his heart.

He had learned that Snape, in fact, did like to read and that he typically would spend his evenings brewing some specialty potions for well-paying customers, before he went home to eat stew and read a book. Usually, Snape said, he would read technical literature, but Harry had spotted a couple of novels in the midst of the serious books. 

Harry turned his head and looked at the empty spot beside him in the bed, then at the picture of Oliver on the bedside table. He'd put it there, on what had been Oliver's side of the bed, so he would see Oliver every time his eyes searched for him. Oliver smiled and waved, smiled and waved, frozen in a repeating loop for as long as the spell would hold. Harry tried smiling back, but suddenly his sight was blurry and his cheeks were wet.

This wasn't right. He couldn't… "I'm sorry," he told Oliver's picture. Just entertaining the thought of Snape… him being so fascinated and feeling so excited about spending time with Snape… it had to stop. It had gone far enough. It was too soon after Oliver's death and with every step that he took, he was insulting Oliver's memory. Harry was carrying Oliver's child, for Merlin's sake! How could he even be thinking about another man?

******

The days passed and Christmas came closer with big steps. Harry busied himself as best as he was able to. He worked on the baby's room, cleaned the flat, and got everything ready for Christmas. There was still a lot to do, and so Harry waddled along Diagon Alley, only too aware that his walk looked even more ridiculous than it usually did. The melting snow—now barely more than grey mush—made it difficult to move without slipping. Harry levitated a small stack of presents in front of him and wondered when daily life had become so bloody exhausting. Checking his Christmas buying list, he found despite his best intentions he still was short a couple of presents. He needed something for Percy (easy, a nice daily agenda and some sharp quills), another small gift for George (harder, while George might appreciate joke gifts, it would be lame to buy one for him—especially if it came from a competitor), and one for—

"Ow!"

—Snape. Who was now standing in front of Harry, holding his head because Harry had hit him with his stack of presents.

"I'm so sorry!"

"You should bloody well watch where you're going!" Snape said, but when he opened his eyes to check who had hit him, his gaze immediately softened as he recognised Harry.

"I know, I was lost in thought and I –"

"It's fine," Snape said gruffly and looked Harry over. Harry found himself staring hard at the ground—no, he couldn't let this happen! He couldn't let himself feel excited by the way Snape's gaze ran over him with care. "I haven't seen you around," Snape noted. "You haven't fallen ill, have you?"

Harry shook his head.

"What then? First I see you everywhere—even at my own home—and suddenly there is no sight to be caught of you."

Harry bit his lip and straightened his coat. "I was just busy."

"Busy? I see." Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest. Harry didn't looked up to check if Snape's eyebrows were also raised again.

"Yes, busy. Like now. I have an appointment with my healer." Harry strengthened his grip on his wand and started moving his packages out of the way. He would need to go to the Leaky Cauldron; it was the nearest Floo Connection around. 

Snape stepped aside, but as Harry passed him, he said quietly and only for Harry to hear "You always were a rather pathetic liar."

******

Sitting in the midst of tons and tons of wrapping paper, Harry berated himself for not picking the right paper the first time around. He had just unwrapped every single present and needed to wrap everything again. Not that he already had all the presents he needed—he hadn't dared to go to the shops since the day he met Snape down on Diagon Alley. Time was pressing: it was only five days until Christmas.

A knock on his door startled Harry, but the wards didn't alert him of anyone malevolent outside, so he waddled over and opened the door. Much to his surprise, it was Snape standing outside. "Good evening, Mr Potter."

Harry didn't manage to get anything out but a short "Oh". Snape pushed past Harry, which—admittedly—wasn't very easy, and only stopped when he had reached the living room.

"Interesting décor you have here," Snape said and nudged the stack of discarded wrapping paper with his foot.

"I'm wrapping gifts," Harry mumbled and licked his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"I had a visit from the lovely Ginevra Weasley. She thinks you’re shutting yourself off for some reason. She complained that you haven't answered owls and haven't taken Floo calls, and she _'suggested'_ that I come over here and talk some sense into you."

It was true—Harry hadn't replied to letters or taken Floo calls. But that was neither here nor there. "Why didn't she come over herself?"

Snape shrugged. "You'll have to ask her that. For some reason she thought it would be a very good idea for myself to get here and drag your—and I quote—'arse out of the flat and back into the land of the living'."

Harry turned his head away from Snape, hoping he wouldn't see his pain. He knew Ginny meant well, but Ginny had also never lost her husband and couldn't possibly know what it was like and what he might need right now.

"Now, Mr Potter, your friend threatened to get Mrs Granger-Weasley involved. As she was known for being especially headstrong and nosy, as far as I remember, I'd rather not have her force the two of us out of the house."

Harry couldn't tell if Snape was being serious, but at least he was right. He'd rather not have Hermione involved in this—Ginny knew this full well. He wasn't ready to go on and push Oliver into the past, and he sure as hell wasn't ready to let Hermione know what turmoil he felt about Snape, of all people. "What did you have in mind, then?"

"There's a small Muggle Winter Market down on Southbank. I doubt anyone from the magical community will be there and I've heard that the food there is supposed to be tolerable enough."

Harry snorted. "Tolerable enough, you say?" He looked at the mess of wrapping paper and then at Snape's face. The man didn't look like he'd be backing down anytime soon. "Fine."

A quick Disapparition later, they had reached their destination. It had been snowing that afternoon and now the world looked as if it had been covered by powdered sugar. The market on South bank was lovely—fairy lights and stars everywhere, little wooden chalets where vendors sold handmade goods and food, and a big wheel that towered over the place. Snape and Harry walked slowly side by side, soaking in the Christmassy atmosphere. Harry had opted for a glamour as well as a charm that kept people from bumping against him so nobody would accidentally notice his baby bump. Harry breathed in the crisp winter air as if it was his lifeline. In a way, it was true. He hadn't been outside in days.

"How come you can take the evening off?"

"It's my shop, Mr Potter. I can do whatever I like."

"So you don't have any increased business thanks to the holidays?"

Snape inclined his head slightly. "I do. But it's mostly the standard potions—and I make sure to stock up well in advance."

"That would be Pepper-Up, Hangover Potion, and draughts to relieve fullness and bloating?"

"Plus our calming draughts, Skele-Gro, and a couple of antidotes." Snape shook his head. "Sometimes it makes me wonder what people are getting up to during the holidays."

Harry grinned. "But you don't really want to know."

"No, I don't." They walked down the market at a leisurely pace. Snape splurged on two hot chocolates and Harry clung to the warmth of his cup. It really was properly cold. "I expect you'll be at the Weasley Christmas Party this year?"

"Yes. I wouldn't want to miss it!" Harry said and meant it. Despite everything, despite feeling the need to be left alone every so often, those people were his family. "I'll visit Oliver's parents for tea on Boxing Day. They are good people."

"I'm sure they are."

Suddenly, the baby kicked, causing Harry to gasp and laugh. "He or she is going to be a fabulous Quidditch beater," he said. When the next kick came, he instinctively took Snape's hand and placed it on his belly.

"What a strange feeling," Snape mumbled, clearly in awe of the life that was growing inside of Harry.

The realisation of how familiar the scene was, rolled over Harry like a landslide. He felt himself being swept away by the "what should have been". Oliver hadn't felt his baby kick. He'd never found out if it was a boy or a girl they were having. And here Snape was, hand on Harry's belly and so bloody close. 

Harry cleared his throat and stepped back. Suddenly, the Christmassy scene on Southbank had lost its appeal. "Can you take me home, please? I'm tired," Harry said. His eyes were burning, he needed to get home. Snape nodded, let him to a sheltered location and quickly Disapparated. Once they were in front of Harry's front door and Harry had unlocked it, he turned around. Unable to look at Snape, he said: "This isn't right. I can't do it."

"You can't do what?"

"See you again. I can't do it."

Out of the corner of his blurry eyes, Harry noticed how Snape tensed up and how he crossed his arms. "Mr Potter, we've just enjoyed a walk through a winter market. What about that excites you so much?"

"No," Harry shook his head, "we can't see each other anymore." He hurried inside and closed the door, before giving Snape a chance to talk. Seconds later, the pop of Snape's Disapparition let the door shake. Harry leaned against the door and hid his head in his hands.

******

Christmas was a merry affair. Molly had prepared tons and tons of excellent food, Fleur regaled the children with stories from old Christmas books, and Ron and George took care of the more grownup entertainment. Rather content, Harry leaned against a wall and rubbed his belly in slow circles. Not long now and the baby would be there. Next year he or she would celebrate the holidays with him. There was so much that lay ahead, so much uncertainty, Harry thought and sighed.

"Everything alright?" Ginny had walked up from behind, carrying a bit mug filled to the brim with mulled wine. Harry had seen George sneakily pour in some rum, but Ginny surely was aware of that. Her brother could only rarely trick her anymore.

"Everything is fine."

Ginny tugged on his elbow. "If you don't mind," she said and motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen, where she made him sit down on a chair. "We have to have a talk now, Harry."

Harry sighed. He had hoped Christmas would make her forget about the last couple of weeks and how he had strayed. But Ginny was always determined to get to the ground of topics that interested her. It had been like that ever since school.

"I dropped by Snape's last night."

"How do you know where he lives?"

"I have my sources," she said and sniffed. Harry didn't ask any further. He wouldn't put it past her to go to Draco Malfoy's place in order to find out where she could find Snape. "But what matters is that Snape told me about the outing you had a couple of days ago."

"He said you bullied him into getting me."

"You needed to get out of the house."

"I needed to be alone."

Ginny sighed. "No, you really didn't. Harry, love, I can't pretend to know what you're going through. But shutting yourself off from everyone isn't helping. And it's certainly not bringing him back."

Harry looked out of the window instead of at her. Outside, the garden gnomes were playing catch in the snow. "Why does everyone want me to forget about Oliver?" Ginny's sharp intake of breath alerted Harry of her outrage, but that didn't make him turn around to face her. 

"Harry, nobody is asking you to forget about Oliver!"

"Well, it feels like everyone is! It feels like everyone expects me to be whole again."

Ginny took Harry’s hand. "We _want_ for you to be happy again, but we know that you can't just decide to not be sad. But you need to take care of yourself and you need to let yourself be happy."

"For the baby."

"For the baby, yes. And for yourself. And if being around Snape is what makes you happy—and from what I've seen it's doing just that—then that's okay, too."

"I just—I _can't_ , Ginny."

"You can't what?" She squeezed his hand. "Nobody is asking you to do anything. Nobody is asking you to replace Oliver. If you just want to be friends with Snape, that's fine. If you want more—now or at some point—then that's fine, too."

Harry swallowed thickly. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he liked being around Snape. Maybe Ginny was right. Maybe he should stop trying to analyse what he felt and where things were going. "Okay," he said quietly.

"Okay?"

Harry nodded. He looked at the party in the living room, at Molly sitting in her armchair, slightly tipsy and content. 

"Go," Ginny said and nudged him gently. "The Floo is open and I'm sure no one will mind if you step out for a while."

"You mean I should…?"

"If that's what you want. I'm sure Snape's place is quieter than this," Ginny gestured at the living room, "and you look like you could use a breather."

"Alright. But instead of using the Floo, could you Apparate me a few streets down from where he lives? I know you've been there, you should be able to find the place easily. I'd like to take a bit of a walk, first."

******

It had been snowing the whole day. Powdery, white flakes crunched under his boots as Harry slowly made his way to Snape's place. His heart beat hard in his chest and even the baby moved uncharacteristically quickly. It felt like it was doing somersaults, hitting Harry's bladder with every move. He was sweating beneath his winter clothes and he wiped his hands on his robe, no matter that he was wearing gloves anyway. Snape certainly was alerted to his presence already, but Harry knocked on the door nevertheless.

Snape opened fairly quickly and for a moment Harry was taken aback—though not by Snape's speed, but by the Christmas jumper he was wearing. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out.

"Happy Christmas to you, too, Mr Potter,” Snape said, obviously not willing to wait any longer for Harry to greet him first.

Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You, too. I mean, happy Christmas. I hope I'm not intruding?"

"I hardly have a party planned," Snape said, rather deadpan. 

Harry stretched a bit to look past him, just to make sure he really wasn't having any company. He felt ridiculous, standing out here in the cold. But maybe Ginny was right. Maybe it was okay to spend time with Snape. Maybe he really should allow himself some happiness, even though his husband was gone. He opened his mouth—and shut it again, unable to put into words what he thought and felt. How could he verbalise all this turmoil inside of him?

"It's getting rather cold, Mr Potter. So say your spiel and leave me be. Only a few days ago you said we shouldn't see each other again."

"Yes, I did. But I was wrong."

That definitely got Snape's attention. He relaxed his stance somewhat and asked: "Do tell me more."

Harry took a deep breath. Now or never. "I… I don't know what this will be and I can't promise anything. I can't even promise you it will become something."

Snape was silent for a couple of seconds, and then took a long, deep breath. "I can't either, Mr Potter. I haven't completely made up my mind about just how much I like your intrusion into my quiet life," he said, but quickly grabbed Harry's wrist before he could turn and hurry away. "I haven't said I'd be averse to your company, however."

"So what is this, then?" Harry asked.

"How about 'a start'?"

"A start." Harry carefully peeled off Snape's fingers from his wrist. "I can do that," he said and took Snape's hand. "But you might want to call me Harry."

Snape smiled his little smile that was more of a twitch at the corner of his mouth. But Harry knew what it meant. "Come in then, Harry." He moved aside to let Harry into the house.

******

The End


End file.
